What's A Soulmate?
by Dracoisalooker76
Summary: Through the years, Peeta and Katniss have interacted in ways that demonstrate to their fathers that there's some sort of connection between them. A series of little moments spanning from the time they're five to the cave in the Hunger Games.
1. The Red Plaid Dress

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The characters belong to Suzanne Collins. The quote used is from Dawson's Creek.

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**What's A Soulmate?**

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Chapter One: The Red Plaid Dress

_It's uh... Well, it's like a best friend, but more._

Katniss skips along beside me, her hand swinging my arm back and forth as we approach the district school. She looks up at me, smiles with her gray Seam eyes bright. Her front tooth is missing, having been lost the previous night. Suddenly I'm glad I worked on Sunday despite her pleas for me not to go. If I had I wouldn't have been able to walk her to her first day of school.

"You're growing up so quickly, Katniss," Bevan had told her last night when she took the tooth from Katniss's outstretched hand.

How right she was. When had my firstborn grown old enough to go to school?

As soon as we make it to the main gate, Katniss stops skipping and looks up at me once more, this time her face not contorted into a smile. I lift her into my arms and rest my forehead on hers, staring at her with our identical eyes.

"Don't be nervous," I say, kissing her nose. She giggles and I swear the sound has carried over the entire district. "You'll be fine."

Katniss looks away from me toward the parents and their children. "What if they don't like me?"

I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Not liking Katniss is like not liking water. My daughter is well liked among the Seam folk. Her smile radiates among the hungry. Her giggle echoes through the streets. The Seam kids genuinely enjoy her presence and she's got a few friends. Leevy, our next-door neighbor, is Katniss's own age, bound to be in her class, and is always at our door asking if my daughter can come out to play.

"Everyone is going to love you," I tell her, pushing through the gate and into the little courtyard that surrounds the front of the school. As we get closer to the group, I stop and set her down, kissing her forehead. "I promise."

She nods her head and I give her a little push. She giggles and looks up at me, the frown replaced with a smile. I can hear her name being called and I raise an eyebrow in her direction.

"See?" I say, pointing to Leevy, standing in a group of little girls I've seen around the Seam. "You already have friends. Go make some more."

Katniss gives me a hug and then sprints off toward the group. When she arrives one of the girls must comment on her dress because she spins around as if to model it. My wife spent days sewing that dress so it fit her perfectly, not loose and hanging off her like many of the clothes she's forced to wear. I traded Sae for a bit of red ribbon which I cut in half so Bevan could tie a piece to the bottom of each of her braids. Leevy and the other girls all awe over her and I don't feel bad about leaving her to the big bad school any longer. My daughter will be fine. She always is.

Before I turn to leave, I look around to see which parents have school-aged kids this year. Storm Hawthorne's wife is standing with their oldest. I know he's in the mines today and I figure every year on this day I will too, except when it's Prim's turn to go through this. I'll take the day off then, work another Sunday, to be here for her just like Katniss. I send Hazelle a wave and she smiles, her eyes finding Katniss in the crowd before she kisses Gale's forehead. He's a few years older than my daughter, I know that. She has a toddler in her arms, their youngest who's the same age as Prim.

The shoemaker's daughter is crying profusely as her mother tries to pry her off. She's a chubby thing, clearly a Merchant. The mayor seems to have taken some time himself because he stands with a little girl who looks to be the same age as my daughter, five and ready for kindergarten. She's in a brand-new dress, no doubt imported from the Capitol, which puts my wife's hard work to shame.

Over his shoulder I can barely make out the blond hair I know belongs to Bran Mellark. Once he passes the mayor, I can see his little trio clearly. He's being led, practically dragged, by a smiling boy who looks just like him. His other two are dawdling behind him, clearly not wanting to go to school today. They start pushing each other and Bran turns around to tell them to stop. I roll my eyes at his soft demeanor. He hasn't changed a bit. The littlest one lets go and starts running toward the playground where most of the other kindergarteners have assembled. His youngest must be Katniss's age and a groan finds its way into my throat.

On my walk home, I think about what this means for my wife. She'll be the one to drop Katniss off at school, Prim on one hip, Katniss holding her other hand. I can only hope its Bran that drops off the Mellark boys every day. He would have the class to completely ignore her, maybe say a kind hello, but not cause a scene. Delilah…I sincerely hope the witch of a woman who managed to wrangle her way into Mellark's bed steers clear of the school.

I'm still thinking about their possible altercations when I walk through the front door.

"How was she?" Bevan says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Prim is sitting on her lap as she mixes some berries in a bowl. I can see an even larger bowl on the table and know she's making some sort of herbal remedy.

I think back to Katniss, surrounded by all the little Seam girls. "Perfect, as usual."

"Good. She was so nervous this morning."

Prim tries to reach for the bowl and Bevan gently holds her hand back, kissing the top of her head and whispering for her not to touch. Had it been Katniss, our little spunky child, her hand would have just reached again. Prim, even at one, is showing to have a completely different personality from her sister. She's quieter, gentler. She didn't have colic for the first year of her life, something of which Bevan and I are thrilled about having struggled through Katniss.

I sit down at the table making funny faces to Prim, who squeals happily. Bevan rolls her eyes but chuckles herself. After a while, Prim starts instructing me on the faces to make – dog, cat, pig – and I find myself under her control.

"What?" I ask when I realize Bevan's asking my opinion on something.

She laughs and runs her hand through Prim's blond locks. "I said, did you see anything interesting?"

I shrug, mentioning the mayor's daughter. Her breath catches a little and I realize that maybe I should have been more concerned with the little girl who looks just like Maysilee Donner than with Bran Mellark. I mean, it was Bevan who ran from Bran to me when Maysilee was killed in the Games. Quickly, I add in about the Cartwright daughter who wouldn't let go of her mother and that seems to take her mind off of Maysilee.

"Do you know anything about Bran's boys?" I ask, pretending to be nonchalant while really looking for her reaction.

She keeps her eyes on her mixture. "Mellark?" she asks, as if she's forgotten who Bran is after all these years. I know she hasn't, but perhaps I'm more worried about this than I should be. She ran away from the baker, not the other way around. "Oh, I don't know. He's got three, right?"

I nod my head, assuming the littlest one is their last. "Yeah, I think the youngest is Kat's age."

She looks up at me for a moment, her emotions concealed on her face, and then looks down into her mixture. She uses her finger to judge the consistency and grabs a few more berries to mash. "Oh," she says, trying not to sound interested, but I know she is. She may not be in love with Bran Mellark, but she's still got a little bit of the Townie gossip personality despite living in the Seam.

"Looks just like him."

That's all we say about Bran Mellark and his trio of boys. Prim distracts us by grabbing a berry and beginning to mash it against the table. It makes us both laugh as she lifts her hands, her little pale skin dyed blue. In fact, for the rest of the day that Katniss is at school Bran Mellark doesn't enter my mind at all. I take Prim for a walk in my attempts to tire her for a nap. She pets a cat, reaches for flowers in the meadow, and falls asleep on our way home.

Then, I go get Katniss.

"Daddy!" she shouts as she runs out of the school. The kids are supposed to walk out in a line behind their teacher, having to be dismissed before they can go their own ways, but Katniss is like me. She's not exactly a stickler for rules. Upon seeing her sprint away, most of the other kindergarteners follow her lead and I roll my eyes. My daughter and the effect she has. I lift her into my arms and kiss her cheek.

"How was school, Kat?" I ask, setting her down. I kneel to be eye level with her, knowing that we shouldn't go anywhere until she's talked her way through her day. Prim's napping and I don't want Katniss to wake her.

She grabs my hands and begins to tell me, in full detail, the entirety of her day. She tells me about how Leevy and the other girls played on the playground with her, how she colored with a little girl named Madge, how she helped Delly stop crying. She's proud of herself and I'm proud for her.

"And then, in music assembly, Miss Teacher asked if anyone knew the Valley Song!" She looks up at me, wanting me to fill in her story, but I'm still chuckling at the fact that she doesn't know her teacher's name and she can't wait any longer before launching into her story. "I raised my hand and I sang for the class. Miss Teacher told me I had a very pretty voice, Daddy. And then we went to recess and Peeta told me when I sang the birds stopped singing to listen to me. He said my dress was pretty too! We're going to be best friends."

I laugh softly and pat her cheek. Oh boy, the first day and my daughter already has the boys crushing on her. I try to think about the boys I know that are her age in the Seam but the name doesn't sound familiar. "Who said it, Kat?"

She turns around and looks through the crowd before pointing. I follow her finger and my heart drops.

"That's Peeta, Daddy," she says, before grabbing my hand and trotting off toward the Seam. "He's got really pretty eyes like Mommy and Prim."

Luckily Katniss still has more to say because my stomach is churning. This is not going to end well. Not at all. I can just imagine it now. Peeta will no doubt tell his father about Katniss, just as she's telling me about him, and Bran would be kind enough to let them be friends. But Delilah? She hates the Seam, and our family in particular, more than anything. She'll tell the boy that Katniss is Seam trash – I can already hear her voice saying it – and my daughter's little heart is going to be completely broken when the boy tells her about it.

Why is it always the baker?

"Mommy!" Katniss cries when we reach home. She sprints through the streets to envelope Bevan in her arms. My wife was smarter than I would be, waiting outside so Katniss won't wake Prim. "I had so much fun at school!"

"You did?" Bevan asks, tugging on her braids. "And now, what did I tell you this morning?"

Katniss giggles and Bevan asks if she made any friends. She obviously hasn't seen my motions to stop behind Katniss's back.

"Peeta's my best friend!" she exclaims.

Bevan apparently knows more about the Mellark boys than she let on earlier. Her face drops and the happy smile is replaced with a fearful frown. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me over our daughter. I can't think to do anything but shrug. Bevan asks Katniss to go inside to change and the second the door closes, she's standing in front of me.

"This isn't happening," she says, shaking her head.

"She's five," I tell her, taking her into my arms. "Tomorrow she'll have a new best friend."

"Yes, because she's _Seam trash_ – "

"Hey!" I lift her chin to look at me. I tell her the same story Katniss told me about music assembly and Bevan shakes her head.

"I just don't want her to get hurt."

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_I took Katniss's mother's name from Silvanus Bevan, a noted apothecary. I named her father Hunter because I love the play on words, since he's an illegal hunter. Peeta's father's name Bran comes from the hard outer layer of grain. His mother, Delilah, gets her name from the Bible since Delilah cut Samson's hair, thus depriving him of his strength. I used Storm for Mr. Hawthorne to foreshadow his early death._

_This story will go back and forth between Mr. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark's points of view, so next chapter will be from the baker and be based around the next sentence of the Dawson's Creek quote._

_Read and review!_


	2. The Request for Bread

Chapter Two: The Request for Bread

_It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else._

Peeta doesn't ask for things often. Even at five, he hates making people go out of their way for him. Take, for example, his birthday. I always make the boys a cake on their birthdays and, whereas Rye and Leaven insist on everything to the color and texture of the frosting, Peeta will smile up at me and shrug.

"You pick," he'll say. And then Rye and Leaven will shake their heads and laugh at him, call him indecisive. They'll tease him, saying he'll get a pink cake because Mother and Papa wanted a girl and instead they got stuck with him.

So, when he comes into the bakery, dressed in his pajamas and asks to bring a loaf of bread to class, I know it's for something important.

I lift him up on the counter and stare at him, his eyes unwavering from mine. It's early. Delilah's not even up yet and I raise my eyebrows at my youngest son, wondering if he slept at all last night in order to wake up before the sun even rises. He stares at me and I can see the desperation.

"What do you need with a whole loaf of bread?" I ask. I have my hands leaning on the counter on either side of him.

Peeta's smaller than Rye and Leaven were at five. The older two take after me in their builds – tall, long, lanky. They haven't grown into their limbs. Peeta's more like Delilah, smaller and more compact. The comparisons stop there between my youngest and my wife. I recognized this on his first day of school. I saw Hunter Everdeen walk in with his oldest daughter and I pointed her out to Peeta. He had been shocked that her mother would leave me for a miner but then, when I had gone to pick him up while Delilah held things down at the bakery, my little boy jumped in my arms and smiled.

"I know."

I had no idea what he meant. I know? I know what? He smirked, his blue eyes shining, and pointed to Katniss, who was amicably telling Hunter something, her arms flailing and reminding me so much of Bevan with her love of the dramatics.

Peeta heard Rye and Leaven coming near us and he leaned closer to me, whispering in my ear so his brothers wouldn't hear. "She sings like her papa."

I remember groaning. I remember thinking to myself that I had planted these feelings of mine into my son. Then I remember him telling Delilah about the girl with the braids.

"She is Seam trash!" my wife had screamed, towering over Peeta the second he said Katniss's name. "You will stay away from her! Do you hear me?"

That night I had to explain the politics of the district to my five-year-old. I had to tell him that his mother hated the Seam because she thought they were beneath us. I had to tell him that his mother hated Katniss's mother – leaving out the fact that it was because I could never love Delilah like I loved Bevan. I had to tell him to stop crying and stop hanging around Katniss, despite the fact that he had told her they would be best friends.

Rye and Leaven had tried to help me. "She's just a Seam kid anyway," Leaven had hissed. Out of my three boys, he's the most like his mother.

"Yeah, they seem nice now," Rye said softly, although through his twinkling eyes, I could tell he didn't quite believe what he was saying. "Then they turn into savages."

"Like that stupid Hawthorne kid!" Leaven had groaned. "He hates me just because I'm blond and he's not. You're better than her, Peeta. You are. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve your friendship."

Peeta stares at me now like he stared at me then. He looks up at me with the slightest edge of disappointment.

"Seam people are people too," he had said then.

"Katniss's dad got hurt in the mines," he says now.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Of course, he's asking for Katniss. He's barely spoken to her since the first day of school, knowing his mother would skin him alive if he did, but I can tell by the way he looks at her when they leave class each day that he watches her a lot. She's a pretty thing so I can see why he's intrigued. She seems nice too, always surrounded by a group of giggling girls that follow her like she's their leader. She probably is. She's like Hunter – courageous and confident and just a tad bit self-righteous.

I mean, I've only met Hunter once but I'd watched him come and go from Town enough to know what everyone thought of him.

Hunter Everdeen knew what it was like to lose a friend to the Games. Rumors around town were that the Abernathy kid was his best friend, just as Maysilee was Bevan's. They took comfort in the fact that they knew what was going on with the other. They would sit and watch the screens in the square late into the night, making sure Maysilee and Abernathy safely made it through another day. I didn't even realize I was losing her to him until Maysilee died and Abernathy came back changed.

Once Abernathy's family died and our second Victor nearly died with them, Bevan ran to the Seam to comfort Hunter and that was the last I really heard of her. My parents set me up with Delilah trying to quiet the gossip of the Town that she left me for a mining rat. That was that. I thought it was over and I would never have to deal with Bevan and Hunter again.

It would be my luck that Peeta and Katniss are the same age.

I sigh and push a piece of his blond hair out of his eyes. "Papa, she's hungry," he says.

I heard about the accident the other day. Cleat Cartwright had told me that Storm Hawthorne and Shale Lockheart had to drag him out. Being from Town, none of us really knew what that meant as the only times we had ever been in the mines were for our annual school trips when we were kids. Apparently, it wasn't serious enough to kill him, but it was bad enough to keep him out of work. To a mining family, it means disaster. It's almost better if the miner dies – at least they get compensation.

"Okay," I tell him, looking to the three paper bags on the counter. "I'll pack you another roll for lunch – "

"No!" Peeta interrupts and I'm surprised. He's not usually this outspoken. He stares at me, his head shaking back and forth. "She won't take it."

I roll my eyes, knowing that hungry Seam kids will take any food they're given. He hasn't realized this yet. The innocence of childhood. "If she's hungry, she'll take it."

"No!" he insists. "You don't know her! She won't take it. But it was Madge's birthday the other day and she passed out bags of candy to everyone in class. Katniss took one. If I have a loaf I can give some to everyone so it doesn't look like I'm giving it to her."

I think I give my son too little credit. He's obviously come to understand not only the politics of the district but the attitudes toward charity in the Seam. I nod and don't say anything, merely putting a loaf of cranberry bread in his bag, holding my finger to my lips.

"Don't tell Mother."

He smiles and wraps his little arms around me, covering himself in flour. "I won't," he whispers back. "I promise."

I set him down off the counter and tell him to go back to bed but instead he grabs one of the aprons off the hook. It's too big for him, dragging on the ground as he walks toward me and I have to laugh at the sight. He's covered in flour, his apron's too large, but his smile is contagious.

He helps me kneed the dough and I laugh as he turns more and more white with each new dough we work with. By the time Delilah comes down he looks like a ghost with his blue eyes sticking out of flour.

"What are you doing down here?" she asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs with her hands on her hips. Peeta turns away from me on his stool and his face drops. His mother's voice is her angry voice.

She storms toward him and grabs his wrists, flinging him off the stool so he lands with a crash against the counter. "Delilah," I hiss, but today she's not having any of it.

"I have been looking for you all morning!" she screeches, not caring that Peeta's eyes are welling and he's rubbing his hand on his head where it's hit the counter. Rye and Leaven stick their heads out of the stairwell to watch. "And look at you! Covered in flour!"

Then, she turns on me. "He has to go to school!" she hisses.

"I know," I tell her. "He can clean himself off. It won't take long."

She glares at me before pushing Peeta toward Rye and Leaven, who I hadn't been sure she knew were there. "Make sure every ounce of flour is off of him and then walk him to school!" she shouts. When the boys don't do anything, she throws her hands in the air. "Now!"

Rye lifts Peeta into his arms and nearly sprints up the stairs, Leaven right on his tail. When they're gone, safe from whatever is going to happen in the bakery, I turn to Delilah. Her glare is fixated on me and she has her hands on her hips.

I thought having kids would help her. She was always so angry and when we had Rye she did better. She doted on him, enjoyed when he behaved. Then, when Leaven came along, she was a little disappointed he wasn't a girl. She wanted this perfect family – the boy and the girl, the successful business. She wanted what the Donners had. She wanted the perfect little family if she was going to have one at all. When Peeta wasn't a girl she just about flew through the chimney. She had what the town midwife called post-partum depression, but I saw it for what it really was.

She didn't get her way and it made her crankier than ever.

And the fact that Peeta's hung up on Bevan's daughter isn't helping.

"What is this?" she asks, walking away from me and grabbing the paper bag I had placed Peeta's bread in. She turns to glare at me and shakes her head. "No. We are not feeding the Everdeens!"

"It's not for the Everdeens," I tell her. "It's for his class. They're having a party for the first hundred days of school."

I honestly have no idea how long they've been in school for but Delilah would know even less than I would. She doesn't keep up with anything the boys do.

"No," she hisses, shaking her finger at me. "Peeta may be able to lie to you and tell you there's a party but that bread is going to that awful Seam girl! I know it! And if he thinks for a second –"

"Delilah!" I shout. "Give it up! It's not for Katniss!"

She slams the bag on the counter and glares at me. I think for a moment that I've won and then she spits on the bread and walks into the front to open up shop for the day. You can never win against Delilah.

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_So, what do you think? _

_As for the names in this chapter: Rye is obviously a type of bread. Leaven comes from 'leavening' which gives bread the ability to rise. Shale is a mineral name. Cleat is a type of shoe._

_Review!_


	3. The First Little Duck

Chapter Three: The First Little Duck

_It's someone who makes you a better person._

"Tuck in that tail, little duck!"

Katniss turns around and shakes her head, leaving the tail of her shirt out of her skirt as she skips ahead of us. Bevan groans and I let out a laugh. At least, on a day like today, she can still be too young to realize what's going on. She skips toward the square and I watch as her shoes just about flip off her feet. She's small for her age, tiny and spunky.

Bevan and I each have one of Prim's hands. She had decided she didn't want to be held and wanted to walk after Katniss on our way to the square. She won't make it too much longer, but she's a determined little kid who wants to follow Katniss everywhere. Kat doesn't mind and Bevan's thankful for that.

When Bevan takes Prim off the ground, I rush forward and take Katniss in my arms. She squeals and starts to squirm but I hold her tight to me when I notice the Peacekeepers standing ahead of us. I set her down quickly and kneel down to tuck in her shirt.

_Six years_, I think. She's halfway there. Six years and this won't be the way we behave before a reaping.

Bevan has done Katniss's hair in an intricate braided masterpiece and I try to imagine her at twelve standing with her classmates and hoping it's not her name that's echoing through the square in Effie Trinket's horrific Capitol accent. It would destroy Bevan to lose her to the Games like she lost Maysilee. I'm pretty sure it would destroy me too.

The majority of the kids are already checked in when we arrive. There are groups of girls huddled together, clutching their hands. I try to imagine Katniss. I can't see her doing it. I can see her with her head held high as Leevy and the others cower behind her, trying to be just as strong as my little girl is pretending to be.

I look around the group. Storm stands with his two older boys. Gale's getting bigger, nearly up to Storm's chest now. Rory sits on his father's shoulders, his eyes wandering around in awe of the square packed with people. Hazelle is holding their newest addition. I think Storm said they named him Vick. He's only a few weeks old as it is. Shale Lockheart has his daughter in his arms as if there's a risk that she'll be taken despite being only two. The Hills are all huddled together, the oldest hugging one of her sisters as the little girl looks around with fearful eyes.

The Merchants look less scared, but still stand stoically. The shoemakers have two pudgy kids that they keep a hold on. Some Capitol attendant is holding onto the mayor's little girl while her parents sit on stage. Delilah Mellark looks bored and I roll my eyes. She's probably waiting for Effie to pull the two Seam kids from the crowd to lose them forever. She must not realize that Peeta is looking our direction because if she did I'm sure he wouldn't be.

Haymitch looks worse this year than he has any other year and I feel Bevan grab my hand. I know she's looking at him too. He used to be handsome, his Seam features so similar to mine. The girls loved him and his sarcastic attitude. I was the charmer; he was the arrogant one. I haven't spoken to him in years, not since he locked himself in Victor's Village for a year with nothing but liquor.

"Haymitch!" I yelled, pounding on his window. "Haymitch!"

He saw me and glared, opening the window and sticking his head out. "Go away, Everdeen," he slurred. "Don't want you to end up dead too."

"Oh, come on, Haymitch," I hissed. "Get a grip. It's not your fault."

He laughed and shook his head. He looked like he was going to say something and then he took a swig of whatever was in his flask. "Of course it is," he hissed, and I remember thinking the flask was filled with something that sobered him. "And Snow's going to watch you too. So go. Leave. I'm not anyone's friend anymore."

I tried to say something and he just shook his head. "Hunter, trust me, I wish I could die in the mines rather than go through this."

We were eighteen. It was the day before my last reaping.

"Daddy?"

I look down at Katniss and see that she's staring not at me but at a group to our left. It's a Seam family, they're eyes watering. So I look to the stage and nod. Twelve-year-old Sage Witham has just been called as the male tribute. I shake my head and grab Katniss in my arms.

"What is it, Kat?"

She looks sadly at the scene and then frowns. "Are we ever going to see Sage again?"

I could lie.

"No, little duck," I tell her, pressing her face close to me so she doesn't have to look out. I don't want her to lose her innocence just yet. "No, we're not."

This is the first year that I think she really understands what's going on. It might be because she knows the Withams. His younger brother Aster is a year ahead of her in school and they only live a few houses down. It might be because in school they tell them the history of the Hunger Games. I don't really know what's triggering this, but it is.

Katniss starts crying right as Sage and the girl, a Merchant by the looks of her, shake hands.

I look for a way out. They'll try to keep us here for a while longer, while the families give their goodbyes, and then they'll keep us here until cars come to take the tributes to the station. My eyes stay locked on the only exit to see that Darius, one of the new Peacekeepers, starts letting some of the families with younger kids out. He's only a kid himself, barely eighteen if I could bet. I look to Bevan and she nods. She'll stay with Prim, who doesn't understand what is going on, and I'll take Katniss out before she makes a scene.

I begin walking through the crowd, holding Katniss as tightly to me as I can, attempting to muffle her sobs. Darius looks even younger today than he usually does and he glances down to Katniss before waving me through. I'll have to give him something from my hunt next week.

Once we're outside the gates, I pull Katniss into a back alley and lean against the wall, rocking her back and forth. "Shh," I say in her ear.

"Is Sage going to die, Daddy?" she asks, pulling away to look at me. She has tearstains on her face. Her eyes are bloodshot. I wipe a stray tear from her eye and kiss her forehead. "Why does he have to die?"

I shake my head. To be honest, I don't know what to tell her. What is the truth any more? The rebellion? No, this is a power issue. An issue my six-year-old will not understand.

A wail echoes through our alley and Katniss turns away from me. She stands and I try to pull her back to me, knowing we shouldn't be visible until after the viewers have been let out of the square, but she escapes me. She wiggles free and starts running out of the alley toward the wail. I have no choice but to follow her.

Behind the bakery, Bran Mellark has his back to us and is trying to comfort his youngest. Peeta is wailing, tears streaming down his face, and I come to realize that this must be the age, the age where they realize the kids that get picked out of a bowl will not be coming back to District Twelve. Katniss steps forward and moves passed Bran. I'm so speechless I can't even move to stop her.

"It's okay," she says, putting her hand on Peeta's shoulder. He looks at her and shakes his head.

"She's going to die."

Peeta is crying about the Merchant girl. I don't even know her name. Just another blond-haired girl in the crowd. It makes me wonder what would happen if Katniss was reaped. Would the Merchants just hiss about another Seam girl? Would anyone care? Would they just be too happy it wasn't their kid to even think about what the consequences were for her?

"Yeah," Katniss says. She doesn't try to sugar coat it. If it had been about anything else, I would have laughed at her bluntness. "She is. So is Sage."

Then, she puts her head up and walks away. At first it comes off as cold, but then I realize what she's trying to do. She's putting on her brave face, walking around as if she's figured out the meaning of life, or in this case the meaning of death. She walks right passed me and I can't help but be impressed by my little girl.

As we walk into the street I can see the people are being let out of the square and the reaping is over. The cars are driving down the street toward the station. Bevan spots me immediately and I take her hand in mine. Prim waddles to Katniss and takes her hand.

"Kat cry," Prim says and Katniss leans down to pick her up. She balances her sister on her hip, trying to mimic her mother. "Kat better?"

"Kat better," Katniss says and kisses her forehead.

Our daughters walk back to the Seam together, Katniss holding Prim's hand as the little girl tries to keep pace with her older sister's strides. We're nearly to the front porch when Bevan moans and I let my laugh fly. The tail of Katniss's shirt has come out once more and is hanging out in the back.

"You got a tail, little duck," I say.

She stops and lets go of Prim's hand to put her shirt back in. Once she's finished tucking it in, she looks up at Bevan and I with a smile. Her face is still red, her cheeks still marred with tears, but she has her smile.

"Better?" she asks.

Bevan nods and takes Prim, who has tried to go ahead and has tripped, in her arms. She kisses the top of Katniss's head. "Much, sweetie."

When she's just far enough ahead, I lean down and pull at the back of Katniss's shirt. "I like your tail," I whisper.

"Quack," she responds.

I chuckle. Katniss giggles. I reach down and flip her onto my shoulder and she starts to scream with an excited laugh laced underneath. Around us I can see a few of the families smiling at Katniss's innocence. Her laughter seems to brighten the Seam just a little, breaking through the thick layer of coal dust that has blanketed the homes.

We walk in the house and Bevan has Prim on the kitchen table, covering her skinned knee with a bit of herbal salve. Katniss giggles and sticks her head under my arm. "Look, Mommy!" she squeals. "I'm a duck! Quack! Quack!"

Prim looks over and her tears subside. "Quack!" she mimics.

Katniss giggles. "You want to be a little duck too?"

Bevan and I share a smile as Prim quacks again.

* * *

_I took some artistic license with Darius. Technically he's supposed to be in his early twenties when Katniss is sixteen, but I couldn't resist putting him in. I figure maybe he just looks like he's in his early twenties. In this universe, he's twenty-eight when Katniss is reaped._

_Thank you for all the reviews so far, they've been great! Make sure you keep reviewing to tell me what you think!_


	4. The Primrose Cookies

Chapter Four: The Primrose Cookies

_Actually, they don't make you a better person; you do that yourself because they inspire you._

By the time he's ten, I think Peeta could run my bakery. Rye and Leaven are good. They do as they're told. They kneed the dough just long enough, pour in the right ingredients, set the time for the right amount of minutes, but neither of them cares. Rye would rather spend his time outside playing soccer with the boys from Town. Leaven would rather spend his time doing anything else.

Peeta was always the one that took after me the most.

"What are you working on?" I ask, coming over to see that he has a tray of cookies and a decorating bag. On the table in front of him is a bouquet of flowers from the florist that he's basing his designs on.

He shrugs, too focused on the cookie to look at me. I look around him, seeing near a hundred cookies already frosted. He's tried different approaches to all of them – different colors, different tips – but his best ones are not the violets, not the lilies, not the dahlias.

The primroses.

He has more than a dozen different primrose-decorated cookies and the one he's doing now is probably his best. The color is a soft orange, the color of the sunset. It looks real, as if I could lean down and smell the sweet scent and pollen in the center. When I try to catch his eyes, he's so focused he doesn't even react to me taking one of the ones he has already done in my hands.

He messed up on this one, so I pop it in my mouth.

"Hey!" he says, looking up and setting his decorator's bag down on the table. "You're eating my cookies!"

I raise my hand in self-defense. "Are you planning on eating all of them?" I tease.

He flushes red and then shakes his head. "Just practicing."

The elephant footsteps of Rye and Leaven echo through the front of the shop followed by Delilah's screams for them to get out with their muddy clothes. It rained all week and today the ground is still saturated with rainwater, but the Town boys had decided to play their game anyway. When the two come into the back, they're covered from head to toe.

"Practice cookies!" Leaven shouts, running forward to take one of the violet-decorated cookies in his mouth.

Everyone loves practice cookies. It's one of the only times we can actually eat our own concoctions before they're stale and old. These cookies are good too. No doubt fresh, a few hours out of the oven if that.

"You need work on your lilies," Rye says, inspecting one of the cookies before taking a bite. "But not half bad."

Neither of them notices how Peeta has taken the sunset-orange primrose cookie in his hands as he steps out of his chair. If they had he wouldn't have heard the end of it. _Who's it for? What lucky girl is getting a cookie? Delly Cartwright? Madge Undersee? Who's the sugar of our little Peeta's heart?_ Instead of the teasing, Rye and Leaven continue to critique his edible creations, as if they themselves could do better.

"This flower's ugly."

"Roses are so overdone."

"What kind of flower is _that_?"

Rye looks up from their investigation and inspects the bouquet as Leaven looks up at me. "But, really, what is it?" he asks, pointing to the group of cookies decorated with delicate primroses. "We've never done these flowers before."

I laugh and rest my hand on his shoulder, grabbing the flower from the bouquet. "They're primroses."

Both boys look at each other with evil smirks beginning to form on their features before they turn to Peeta, who has his back turned to them. He's at the counter, putting the cookie in a box so it won't get eaten or ruined. Suddenly I'm confused at what the two have caught on to with my declaration of the flower species, but I figure I'll know in a few seconds.

They don't disappoint.

"Primroses!" they both exclaim, jumping out of their seats and landing on either side of the their brother. They tower over him, despite being only two and four years older. From my spot at the table I can see that even the back of Peeta's neck has flushed red in embarrassment.

"Primroses!" Leaven exclaims with a cackling laugh. "Like Primrose Everdeen?"

"Isn't she a bit young for you?" Rye teases. "I mean, she's in kindergarten, isn't she?"

The two boys laugh manically and Peeta turns around. I let out a breath. Hunter and Bevan's younger daughter's name is Primrose. Of course. That's why he was working so hard on the primrose cookies.

"Maybe you should try some Katniss flowers!" Leaven says, coming up behind him and pinching his now ruby red cheeks. "She must be named after a flower, right?"

Rye comes around to his other side and does the same. Peeta pushes him off and runs out of the room, out the back door, while both his brothers continue to laugh. I raise my eyebrows at them.

"Did you really have to do that?" I ask, letting my eyes go to the door that's still swinging.

Rye stops laughing first. "Oh, come on, Dad. We were just teasing him!"

"Yeah, he needs some thicker skin," Leaven adds in. He reaches for another cookie and I grab his wrist.

"You'll ruin your dinner," I say, pointing to the stairs. "Now, go clean up."

They roll their eyes, muttering about how Peeta's my favorite just loud enough for me to hear, as they climb the steps. I look to see that Delilah's still at the register before going to the back door.

Peeta sits at the tree in our yard, his knees to his chest and his chin rested on them. He lets his eyes go to the pigs, watching them grovel over the feed. The ground is wet and muddy but I sit down beside him anyway, realizing Delilah is going to kill us.

I wait for him to start but when he doesn't say anything I lean back into the tree.

"Sometimes your brothers don't know when to stop," I say.

He shakes his head.

I pat his calf but he still doesn't look at me. I lean forward and take my own legs, recognizing how much easier it was when I was younger to get into this position. Peeta sighs and turns away from the pigs to look at me.

"I just wanted her to have something for herself."

I nod my head, wondering what he means. It doesn't take too long for him to launch into his story.

"The other day, Madge brought in candies, like she always does for her birthday. Everyone ate theirs as soon as we got a hold of it, but I noticed Katniss didn't. After school, I saw her give hers to Prim."

Peeta lets go of his legs and lets them stretch out in front of him. "She and Prim always come by after school on Wednesdays to look in the windows because they know Mother's not there. I think Prim likes the cakes," he continues. "I thought it would be nice if I could make a couple really good cookies with primroses on them so when they come by tomorrow they could have one."

"You know that she wouldn't take them though," I say, remembering all those years ago when he wanted to bring the whole loaf of bread to school so the hungry five-year-old wouldn't think he was giving her charity.

He laughs and smirks at me. "She would never deny Prim," he tells me confidently. "Trust me."

"I do," I tell him. It's honest. He knows more about this girl than I could ever hope to know about anyone.

He smiles and leans his head against the bark. "She's so selfless," he murmurs. "Rye and Leaven, if we lived in the Seam, would never do for me what she does for Prim."

Looking at my son, I realize that he has fallen as hopelessly into Katniss's trap as I fell into Bevan's. He blows out a deep breath and I think he's going to say something else when I notice a look of fear fill his eyes. I turn to the back door to see Delilah with her hands on her hips.

"Peeta Mellark, get in this house this instant!" she screams.

Peeta jumps up quickly and makes a mad dash across the yard. She hits him on the back of the head as he runs in and up the stairs to change out of his dirty clothes for dinner. When we lock eyes, she glares at me and slams the door. I wonder if I'm welcome to dinner.

That night we eat a loaf of stale cranberry bread and Leaven sends Peeta kissy-faces when Delilah isn't looking. After about ten minutes, Peeta explodes and I know it's not going to end well.

"Stop it!"

"Peeta!" Delilah reaches over the table to hit the back of his hand with her big wooden spoon she's using to stir the lemonade she's made from the lemons she got from the grocer. "No yelling at the table."

"But –"

She glares at him and he slinks into his chair. He sends me a look and I know he wants me to defend him, put at least some of the blame on Leaven, but I'm in enough trouble with Delilah as it is. Sometimes it's best to pacify my wife, even if it's not to the immediate benefit of my boys. It works out in the long run to do it this way.

When he realizes I'm not coming to his aid, he looks down at his plate and sighs.

They're fed according to body size, so Peeta gets the least. I can hear his stomach rumbling across the table and he stares at the portions given to Rye and Leaven. His older brothers are both bigger than he by a lot. He comes up to Rye's chest, not much higher on Leaven. I remember the conversation we had earlier. _Rye and Leaven, if we lived in the Seam, would never do for me what she does for Prim._ We don't need to live in the Seam to see it. Katniss would give some of her portion to Prim to equal it out. Rye and Leaven stuff the food in their mouths so quickly there isn't even a dashing moment in their supper rituals to think about giving even another bite to Peeta.

The next morning, I stick one of his primrose practice cookies in his lunch.

He trots off to school behind Rye and Leaven. With the end of school and the reaping soon approaching, Leaven's been having nightmares. Rye had them too at twelve and it woke them all up last night. Delilah stuck in her earplugs so I was the one that wandered down the hallway to gather all three of my sons in my arms, telling them that none of them would ever be reaped.

You can never be sure, of course, but it's rare that a Town kid goes to the Hunger Games. There hasn't been one since Derry Hayward, the grocer's niece and our neighbor, and that was four years ago.

"It will be some Seam kid," Rye said to comfort his brother.

Leaven growled. "I hope its Hawthorne," he hissed. "I can't stand him."

Rye had nodded in agreement and, although I don't know many of the Seam kids, I do know the Hawthorne kid's father. He's one of the illegal poachers who comes to the shops to trade at the back door. He and Hunter Everdeen sometimes come together. I had noticed Peeta tense and I pulled him into my lap. He hates it when Leaven wishes people reaped. To be completely honest, if I wasn't worrying about my own kids not being reaped, it would concern me too. But if it came down to it, I would wish Hawthorne's kid reaped over Rye or Leaven any day.

It would probably be a blessing in disguise for the Hawthornes. One less mouth to feed.

I don't think Peeta slept last night after Leaven's comment – all the more reason to stick the cookie in his lunch.

For no other reason than to take a break from being with my wife, I go to pick the boys up from school. On my way I pass by little Primrose Everdeen sitting on a rock by the far gate. In her hands is a single cookie. The look of delight on her face is evident and only increases when she waves to Katniss coming toward her.

"Where did you get that, Prim?" I can hear Katniss say as I pass.

The little girl smiles and takes a bite. "A really nice boy with blue eyes like mine."

I'm too far away to hear Katniss's response. When Peeta comes out of the school he smiles and walks toward me. I'm still in my apron, something I hadn't noticed until he chuckles, asking if my escape was planned. Rye and Leaven both display identical looks of dread at having to walk home with their father.

"Hey, Peeta, how was the cookie I put in your lunch?" I ask when Rye and Leaven are far enough ahead, trying to distance themselves from us, to hear.

Peeta smiles sheepishly. "It was…good," he replies.

And I know who gave Primrose Everdeen the cookie.

* * *

_Let me know what you think! _


	5. The Collapse of Reason

Chapter Five: The Collapse of Reason

_A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever._

If she wasn't from District Twelve, I would have been sure Katniss was from District Four. She's an excellent swimmer and takes to the water like a fish. I've taken her here for a few years now and she's starting to ask if we can bring Prim. Bevan won't allow it until Prim's a bit older, but perhaps I can sneak her out here on her next birthday.

Eight. Twelve. My girls are growing up before my eyes.

I sit back and splash her with my foot. She turns to me and glares. The water in the lake is still a bit too cold for us to go swimming, but we've kicked our shoes off and are dangling our feet in the water. The icy liquid feels good on our feet after the hike.

Katniss would be out there swimming if I would let her.

She leans back and sighs, her arms moving around her as if she's making a snow angel. She's only eleven for a few more months and then she'll be twelve. I don't even want to think about it. Twelve. Reapings. When it did sneak up on me? I've been working extra in the mines, trying to save up as much as I can so she doesn't have to take out tesserae, at least not until after the reapings. I want her going with one slip. I want the odds to be in her favor.

I feel her hand on my arm and I look down. She's no longer laying but sitting and staring at me with her understanding gray eyes. Sometimes I feel like my daughter can see right through me.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I shake my head, not wanting to burden her, but she nudges me. "Just thinking about you turning twelve," I say. It's vague enough that perhaps she can think I'm mourning old age not wishing my life away instead of hers.

She huffs and takes a rock, skipping it on the gentle water of the lake. "I'm never having kids."

It's the first time she's ever broached the topic of the future with me. Sure, she'll tell me her plans for the weekend, occasionally blurt out something she's looking forward to a month ahead. We've never talked about this sort of future, the one that includes children and boys.

I suppose I wanted to talk about it as much as I want Effie Trinket to shout out my daughter's name at the reaping.

I stare at Katniss, trying to gauge what she's recently proclaimed. It's a serious topic, children. It brings so many more topics to mind that I don't think she's old enough to think about – boys, dating, marriage, relationships. Sex. She's not even twelve. She's too young.

Prim pretends to mother her doll, the one that used to belong to Katniss but was later given up in favor of a bow. Everyone in the mines always laughs at me, saying I am in a house full of women and I need a son. What they don't realize is I have the daughter they all want, one that is kind and sweet but a bit of a tomboy. And then I have Prim, who's her exact opposite. I have the best of both worlds.

"Oh, come on, now," I say. "That's not true."

She turns and raises her eyebrows at me. She thinks I'm trying to challenge her opinions, but I merely want to know why she's decided on this at such a young age. Bevan will be disappointed. She's looking forward to grandchildren, years and years from now in the very distant future.

"I don't want kids," she insists. She shrugs and shakes her head, still debating on whether or not to continue. She doesn't and turns away from me, trying to find another rock to skip.

I don't believe this. Katniss is so good with Prim and I can picture her with a couple of her own one day if I really try. Not now. Not anytime soon. Just in the future, when she's older and really cares about someone, some boy that I probably already know but haven't connected with my daughter.

"You know, you'll have to convince your husband of that," I say, nudging her arm.

Katniss laughs and shakes her head. "Guys never want kids," she says. "Aster told me the other day that it's the girls that want the babies."

I shrug. "I wanted you."

"That's different," she says, but her eyes are telling me that her story isn't piecing together the way she wants. As I open my mouth to contradict her, give her a hard time, she shakes her head. "Unless I marry Peeta Mellark, it won't be a problem. He's the only guy that would ever want kids."

I raise my eyebrow at the mention of Peeta Mellark. I wonder if she remembers back when she was five and she had proclaimed that she and the baker's son would be best friends for the rest of their lives. Bevan had panicked. I had too, not wanting my daughter's little heart broken.

She had danced around the house all night talking about her new friend. That night when I had put her to bed, I had kissed her forehead and told her that she should make some more Seam friends. Katniss had giggled and shook her head.

"No, Daddy," she said. Then she had looked up at me with her wide little eyes. "Is Mommy your best friend?"

I had answered her immediately. "Yes."

"Okay." She yawned and then stretched, a smile still full on her face. "I'm going to marry Peeta, Daddy."

Bevan never found out about that. That was our little secret, a secret I'm fairly sure Katniss doesn't remember. She finds the rock she's looking for and skips it. With a sigh, she looks up at me and frowns. "What?" she demands.

"Nothing," I say.

Maybe I should just be glad that Katniss doesn't want to have kids. If only she would swear off boys forever I would never have to worry about her again. However, I've heard Leevy and the other girls giggling in her room about some of the boys around the Seam. Leevy seems particularly smitten with Storm's boy. I've heard them speak of Gale quite a few times. Every once and a while a Town boy's name will come up but its usually the same few. Gale. Thom. The older group of Seam boys seems to have caught their attention.

She looks at me like I've grown two heads and then turns away.

"How do you know that Peeta Mellark wants kids?"

I don't know why I'm continuing this conversation. Both of us obviously want it to end. I should just nod my head and say _okay, Kat, no kids for you_ but I don't. I stare at her because I'm still curious about Mellark. Does he have this hold on my daughter? Does she remember?

I found her in the meadow after my shift on her second day of school. Bevan was all worked up in a panic because Katniss had stormed away from the school, tears springing to her eyes, and then slammed her door shut when they arrived at the house. Sometime between that time and the time Bevan put Prim down for a nap, Katniss had disappeared.

When I found her, sitting in the meadow surrounded by wildflowers, I sat down beside her and wiped her tears.

"What's Seam trash, Daddy?" she had asked. "Peeta's mommy told me to stay away from him because I'm Seam trash. What does it mean?"

Katniss turns away from the lake and laughs. "I tell you I don't want kids and your main concern is why Peeta Mellark wants them?" she asks, as if she doesn't see the connection.

She doesn't remember. Good.

I shrug and watch as she splashes me with her foot. "It was a project for class," Katniss admits. "We had to say where we pictured ourselves in twenty years. Most Seam kids said in the mines and the Town kids talked about running their parents' businesses. Then Peeta Mellark has the audacity to say he's going to be married with kids. Doesn't say a word about his parents' bakery. His friends didn't even stop laughing until our teacher said it was Madge's turn to share."

Huh. Kid has guts at least, going up in front of the class saying something like that to a group of eleven-year-olds.

"And what about you?" I ask, poking her arm. "What is the great Katniss Everdeen going to be doing in twenty years?"

She smiles and shakes her head but she doesn't say a word.

* * *

When the alarms go off, I know I'm not making it out alive.

Storm Hawthorne knows this too and the two of us sit against the wall waiting for it to cave. We're in too deep today to be rescued. There are a few hopeless souls attempting to scramble their way out. I'm not going to do that. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die with my dignity.

"We never got to introduce the kids," Storm says. He turns to me and I can see his eyes are welling with tears that he doesn't want to shed. Then I remember Hazelle, pregnant with their fourth and ready to pop anytime.

"Sucks about the baby," I mutter.

Storm shakes his head. "I just hope its not another boy," he says, a laugh echoing through, just under the alarms. "Hazelle needs a little girl."

"What was the name going to be?" I ask.

It brings a smile to Storm's face, eliciting the response I wanted. "Posy," he says, the pride evident on his features. "I honestly don't know what she's going to name a boy. Maybe she'll get Gale to pick something. We were out of boys names."

He lets out a breath and crosses his arms over his chest. "You worried about your girls?" he asks.

Now we can be completely honest with each other. The alarms are growing louder and the crumbling is now echoing through. It's going to collapse any second.

I shake my head. "Nah," I say. "I just…I don't want Kat taking out tesserae. I told Bevan that the other day not to let her take any, in case…"

How did my timing become so impeccable? I told Bevan yesterday not to let Katniss take out tesserae if I was ever in a mining accident. I hadn't ever thought it would be this soon.

"Nothing is going to happen to you," Bevan had said. "So don't even talk about it."

The rumbling grows louder. Screams of miners echo through the shaft and I shut my eyes willing the explosion to just happen and blow us all to bits. The canaries have stopped singing. It seems like eternity, but I know it's only been about a minute since Storm and I took our seats. I hope that this sacrifice on my part will protect Katniss, keep her name in the reaping bowl instead of being the one echoed through the square.

My beautiful Katniss. I can only think about all the things I'm going to miss in her life. In Prim's.

I won't be there to comfort her before her first reaping. I won't be there to celebrate when she's finished. Her bow and arrow lessons will be halted suddenly. She's strong. She can handle it.

I won't see her first boyfriend. I won't get to scare the boy off. It flashes through my mind who this boy might be. It could be anyone, really. Aster Witham. Gale. Any of the Seam kids.

Peeta Mellark.

I laugh as a rancid odor hits my nostrils and I know the collapse is coming. I think of Katniss at five telling me that she's going to marry Peeta Mellark, how she told me just the other day that she would never marry him. She doesn't realize how often she talks about him, just in passing conversation. She's never really spoken to him, but she speaks volumes about him.

The boy has no idea the effect he has on her and Katniss doesn't realize the effect he has on her either.

It always is the baker.

A crashing noise echoes through the shaft and suddenly everything

* * *

_That was the last one from Hunter. Let me know what you think!_


	6. The Fallen Smile

Chapter Six: The Fallen Smile

_It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would._

The mine collapse brought a somber undertone to the entire district. Groups of Seam women walked around in their best black outfits. Kids that usually wandered around hungry wandered around looking lost and emaciated and then didn't walk around at all. For me, the worst was that, as the days after turned into weeks and then months, Peeta's face remained in a permanent frown.

Hunter Everdeen was one of twenty-four miners lost in the collapse. There were countless others injured and some still fighting for their lives.

The rumors about the Seam flooded Town like a black plague. It seemed like everyone and their brother began their conversations about the events that had conspired on the other side of the district. Cleat Cartwright told me it made him sick watching the Hawthorne boy go back and forth from the Hob, his body gaunt, as he traded for bits and scraps for his younger brothers and new baby sister.

"I started giving the laundry to his mother," Cleat told me. "I can't imagine."

Bon Donner came by for bread and he mentioned how the Hill girl took out tesserae the minute their father didn't come out in the mass exodus of miners before the entire thing collapsed.

"She came out with about five boxes so her name's got to be in that bowl at least ten times now and she's thirteen. My boy's the same age."

My wife, however, walked around with her nose in the air and a smirk on her face.

"A mine collapse," she told Rye and Leaven, "is like natural selection for District Twelve."

I was glad Peeta hadn't been in the room. I could only imagine the expression that would cross my youngest's face if he heard her say something like that.

April showers bring May flowers. I tried to comfort myself by saying that, like the rhyme, things would get better with time. However, when April started coming to a close and it was still raining, I figured my rhyme wasn't exactly true.

The miners' families weren't really my concern. I knew that they would do what was needed to survive. That's what Seam families are good at – getting by. They do it all the time. I was worried for my twelve-year-old, who sat at the window in the bakery with a lost expression on his face every day he came home from school. He didn't talk about it, but I knew that Katniss's father's death was weighing on him. It was destroying him to see her so heartbroken.

I sit against the counter when Cleat comes in out of the rain, stomping his feet on the welcome mat, and pulling Delly's raincoat off her shoulders.

"Cleat," I say in greeting.

He nods his head in my direction as he and Delly walk toward the counter. His daughter goes to inspect the cakes in the case as he comes to stand by me. Delly's birthday is in a few days and I figure she'll want to design her birthday cake. When she's ready I'll grab Peeta from the back so he can draw it out for her, but until then I'll let him sit in the back. He's having a poor day today.

I swear, it's almost like his own family member died and it's bugging Delilah to no end.

Cleat looks around and raises his eyebrows, clearly asking about where Delilah is. I nod my head to the back. He lets out a breath and leans his head closer to me.

"You hear about Bevan?"

Not many people in Town talk about her anymore. When she ran off to the Seam years ago, she was a hot topic of conversation. However, as the years have gone by we've found other things to gossip about in Town. Delly sticks her nose to the glass of the case as I shake my head.

He winces. Cleat and I grew up together but he was the Parkinsons' neighbor. He was a good friend of Bevan's brother as well as her even before I starting going with her. I usually get my gossip about her from him.

"She's not doing good at all, Bran," he says quietly so Delilah won't hear. "She's a mess, apparently. No one really knows anything. No one's seen her. But I saw Katniss wandering around Town the other day. She looks horrible, close to death."

I frown. Bevan is a great mother. I've seen her with Katniss and Primrose before around the school. What does he mean Katniss looks close to death? Is she mourning? So upset she looks like a zombie?

"She's starving," Cleat continues, as if he can hear my thoughts. "Skin and bones."

Delly looks up at us for a minute and Cleat straightens up until his daughter looks back into the display case. Then he looks back at me.

"What's going on?" I ask.

He shrugs. "No idea," he says. "I mean, I tried asking Proust but you know that they don't talk to her anymore, not after she left you. He doesn't even care his niece is wandering around death's door."

No wonder Peeta's been so depressed. If what Cleat says is correct, he's basically watching Katniss starve to death and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

Delilah's screeches erupt but I can't make out what she's saying. I roll my eyes and turn to Delly. It's a happier topic. The irony doesn't escape me that while we're gossiping about the Everdeens, Delly is staring hungrily at a cake she doesn't need. I try to push the thought of Katniss out of my head. I would much rather think about Delly and her birthday than Katniss and her impending starvation.

Rye pokes his head through the door. "Dad? We need you back here."

I can hear Delilah screaming through the crack in the door so I excuse myself from Cleat. When I pass Rye I tell him to go design Delly's cake and then I walk through the doorway into the back of the bakery. Leaven is standing against the back wall, his eyes wide in fear as Delilah takes a spatula, red-hot from being stuck in the burning embers of the brick oven, and waves it at Peeta.

What have I walked in on?

"Hey!" I shout, reaching forward and taking it out of her grasp. When I look to Peeta, I can see she's already made a mark on his leg, which is exposed by his shorts. There's a spatula-shaped burn on his right calf. When I look at his face he has a bruise forming on his cheek that will no doubt be a black eye by morning.

I look to Leaven and point to the staircase, keeping my body between Delilah and Peeta. "Take your brother upstairs," I say. When Leaven doesn't move, I raise my voice. "Now!"

Leaven reacts because he knows I'm serious when I raise my voice. He grabs Peeta and pushes him up the stairs. Once they're safe on the stairs, I point to the spatula in my hand.

"Explain," I growl.

Delilah's face is full of anger. She glares at me and points to the stairs where Leaven and Peeta have disappeared. "He burned two loaves of bread."

"And so you think that's a legitimate reason to hit him with _this_?" I ask, my voice cracking in anger.

"He did it on purpose!" she screams, raising her hands in the air and clenching her fists. Her face is the color of fire.

I snort and toss the spatula into the sink. "I'm sure it was an accident."

Peeta's a good baker. He's the best of the three boys. Rye and Leaven have burned their fair share of bread, cakes, and cookies over the years. Peeta has only burned a few items here or there. He cares about his work. I think that his mind must be elsewhere for him to have burned some bread.

His mind is elsewhere. It's with Katniss, his precious starving Katniss.

She glares at me and points to the door. "He burned it because _Katniss Everdeen_ was picking through our garbage like the Seam trash she is!" she hisses.

I take a step back and look up at the stairs. She can't possibly be right. I know that Peeta has developed some sort of crush on the Everdeen girl but he wouldn't purposely burn bread to give to her. He knows better.

"I told her to scram," Delilah snorts, straightening her clothes and fixing her posture. "Peeta was right behind me when I did. Then he sticks the bread in and watches it until it's charred."

"It could happen to anyone."

She shakes her head. "I told him to feed it to the pigs and, just for the hell of it, I watched him. He tore off some of the burnt bits and then threw it at the Everdeen brat! What does he not understand about _stay away from her_? It reflects poorly on us to give charity and worse, if someone picks up on his attraction to her, we'll be the laughing stocks of the whole district!"

She throws her hands up in frustration and starts beating her fists against the table. I watch her tantrum through the corner of my eye while I peer out the window. If Katniss was outside before she's no longer there now.

"She's not our responsibility!" Delilah shouts. "If her good-for-nothing _mother_ can't get over herself to feed her, why should it fall to us?"

Delilah lets out a breath and then pushes past me and into the front of the store. I let my eyes follow her to see Rye standing in the doorway, his eyes downcast. He's heard most of what's gone on and that means Cleat and Delly have too. We stare at each other for a few minutes, both of us unsure of what to do.

Delilah has a point. We're not struggling, but we can't start giving out charity so blatantly. But, at the same time, I can't tell Peeta to let Katniss starve. I can't because I'm not sure if I could do that either, even though we're supposed to turn a blind eye on starving Seam kids. It's the ways of the district. I bite my lip and think of the next thing Delilah complained about. Peeta's attraction. It's obvious to her too then and not just me.

"Everyone knows about Peeta and Katniss at school," Rye says, his voice quiet, his eyes looking at his shoes. "He's not exactly the most discrete kid ever. People have even started to talk."

I run my hand through my hair. When Bevan left me for Hunter, it almost destroyed us. People spread so many rumors and the bakery lost business, almost as if it had been tainted, and that was just Bevan leaving me. Her family's apothecary business almost went under when she left and, if it hadn't been the only one in District Twelve, it probably would have. If Peeta and Katniss ever…I shake my head. A crush is fine, but I've encouraged this too long.

What I have to do might be one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Rye and I walk up the stairs in silence. Peeta's hisses of pain can be heard as soon as we reach the landing and when we walk into their room, Peeta is sitting on his bed, Leaven beside him doing his best first aid to the burn on his calf. It's nasty, probably a second degree burn, and if it's not infected tomorrow it will be a tiny victory.

I sit down on Peeta's other side and Leaven sighs happily, glad that I'm here to pick up his slack. He hands me the first aid kit and I set it down on the floor. Rye's eyes bear into me, but I can't bring myself to look at him.

"You understand why you were punished," I say quietly, my eyes unable to meet Peeta's. "Don't be so surprised."

Leaven, who out of my sons speaks out against the Seam the most, has his eyes on me in surprise. He stares at me in shock and so I look to him instead of Peeta. I don't want to see the disappointment in the face of my youngest.

"She's starving," Peeta whispers. "She lost her smile. She has no friends anymore. She needed something to hope for."

I look down to the ground. "It's not our responsibility to feed her," I say, using a similar message as one Delilah used with me. "It reflects badly upon us. Do you understand?"

Peeta shakes his head. When I look up I can see his disappointment in me and my stomach churns, knowing I'm not finished.

"Now, listen to me," I say, putting on the sternest voice I can muster. "No more bread. No more help. No more watching her come and go. This silly crush ends now."

Leaven surprises me by frowning. "Dad?" he questions. He and Rye exchange a look and I know what they're thinking. This isn't me. I'm the parent that lets them do what they want, lets_ Peeta_ do whatever he wants, especially in terms of Katniss. I let him bring the bread to school, giving him another loaf after his mother spit on the first. I let him make the primrose cookies. I have never stopped him before, but I have to now for his own protection.

They don't understand what the district will do if he doesn't stop. Their mother would be the least of their concerns.

"Peeta," I say, ignoring Leaven. "No more."

My youngest son glares at me and for the first time his light blue eyes are filled with hatred. Rye has used these eyes on me before, as has Leaven, but Peeta never has. He shakes his head and I grab his shoulders so he can't look away from me.

"Promise me." Peeta stares right through me. "Promise me that you will not talk to her. You will not burn any more bread to give to her."

Peeta doesn't answer and I stand from the bed. I feel a surge of anger flood through me. Doesn't he understand that I'm trying to protect him? He always understood the politics of the district so well. He should realize that any inclinations of his friendship or attraction for Katniss Everdeen will do him harm. If he runs to her, like Bevan ran to Hunter, then what?

Delilah would probably be thrilled to lose him to the Seam – they get along about as well as a cat and a mouse – but I can't do that. I can't sit around and watch my son run to the mines when he's safe inside my bakery. We may not be the Undersees, but we have more than the Seam folk. I can give him a life where he will never take out tesserae. He will never know the painstaking hunger that is plaguing Katniss – or was before he burned the bread.

I walk away and just as I get to Rye, I hear his tiny voice.

"You loved Mrs. Everdeen."

Rye and Leaven know bits and pieces of this story. I've never sat them down and told them the entire thing like I did for Peeta, but based on the arguments Delilah and I have I am fairly sure they've at least pieced the basics together.

I turn to him and glare. "That's different and you know it."

"How?" Peeta demands.

I throw my hands in the air. "Because Bevan was from Town!" I hiss. "I'm not having you run to the Seam to be covered in coal dust and killed in a mine. You're my son. Peeta…dammit, you're a merchant! So act like it!"

That is the first time I've sworn in front of any of my sons. When my eyes are able to focus again, I stare at Peeta and feel my stomach churn even more than it has been during this entire meeting. He looks up at me with his little blue eyes and I realize for the first time since this whole thing started that he is a child. He's twelve. He's innocent.

I turn around and mutter about going to the apothecary to get some ointment for his leg before leaving the room. I can't stand to look at his face any longer, knowing that I'm yelling at him for something that I would want to do myself if put in the situation but would be too cowardly to actually do. If I was Peeta and Katniss was Bevan I would want to burn the bread as well and it makes me sick to my stomach knowing that I've yelled at my son for his unwavering kindness. That I'm doing it because of something Delilah said, some flashback memory she's triggered in my head. My wife knows how to play me and I played right into her trap.

When I return home, Peeta apologizes. I stare at him and then look between Rye and Leaven. I have no idea what was said between the three brothers, but Peeta begrudgingly agrees to not burn any more bread. He doesn't agree to any of my other pleas, but at this point it's about the small victories.

When Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne come to my back door some months later with a couple of squirrels, I think of Peeta when I tell them we can trade. When I come inside with the dead animals, Rye raises his eyebrows, Leaven looks at the rodents in disgust, but Peeta…he does what he does best.

He smiles and forgives me for my trespasses.

"See," he whispers to me later that night. "She just needed someone to believe in her."

* * *

_This was the hardest one for me to write. It took me a few days to get this to where I wanted it to go but I think I've shown what I want. Let me know what you think!_

_As for the names in this chapter: Bon Donner comes from bonbon, since he has the candy shop. Proust, Bevan's brother, comes from Joseph Proust, a French chemist. Their last name, Mrs. Everdeen's maiden name, Parkinson is from John Parkinson, __an apothecary to James I and a founding member of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. It also had the added bonus of being the name of Parkinson's disease, which I liked as a connection to Mrs. Everdeen becoming debilitated after her husband's death, as a type of forewarning, I guess, to her losing control after the accident._

_Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. Last chapter had so many kind words from all of you I wanted this chapter to be wonderful for you to read. Please keep up the great work with your reviews. There will be one or two more chapters after this since there are two more sentences of the quote. Thanks again for all the lovely support and I look forward to seeing what you have to say about the future chapters._


	7. The Hunger Games

Chapter Seven: The Hunger Games

_And no matter what happens, you'll always love them._

Rye spends twenty minutes convincing Leaven that he won't be reaped while Peeta sits beside them, not offering anything to the conversation. He props his head on his hand. All three of them are dressed in their best.

"It'll be some Seam kids," Rye says, holding Leaven's shoulders and shaking his head. "Trust me. I made it through my reapings, you will too."

I put the squirrel that I have in my hands away. It can be mixed in a stew tonight as our celebration that Leaven is out of reaping age and Peeta only has two more left to go. Delilah is even on her best behavior today, putting her hand on Leaven's shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"You'll be fine," she says. It's the most kindness I've seen from Delilah in a while.

Peeta notices me washing my hands. He knows I have just seen Gale Hawthorne, traded him a roll for the squirrel. It wasn't a fair trade but since today is the reaping, his brother's first, I decided to take pity on the poor kid. Everyone knows the gamblers are betting on his name getting pulled by Effie Trinket today.

It's been four years since he burned the bread for Katniss and four years since he's said anything about her. Leaven's even told me, when Peeta was in another room and out of hearing range, that he's either not staring at her anymore or gotten a lot more discrete about it.

"He's probably realized that she's just about married to Hawthorne," Rye muttered while the three of us sat at the decorating bench, Delilah in the front of the store, Peeta upstairs studying for a test. "Finally gave up."

We make our way to the square and I pull Leaven and Peeta both in my arms. Delilah merely watches. Rye ruffles their hair. Then the two of them walk toward the check-in table. Out of the corner of my eye I see Katniss Everdeen, kneeling in front of little Primrose. I take a deep intake of breath. It's her first reaping.

Sometimes I sneak things to Primrose. It makes me feel horrible about yelling at Peeta four years ago, but Prim looks so like Bevan it's uncanny. I always pull her in and tell her not to say anything to Katniss, as that would be the end of my charity. She usually comes to trade her goat cheese with Rory Hawthorne and the two of them eye the cookies hungrily when I give them one each.

Peeta's caught me one or two times. He doesn't glare at me like I would expect of Rye or Leaven. He smiles. Helping Primrose is helping Katniss.

And, as much as Rye and Leaven think he's over her, I know he's not. Not really. He's too much like me to be over her.

Effie Trinket is wearing a horribly bright pink ensemble today and she greets the crowd with delight, as if this is the most exciting thing to happen to her all year. She reaches into the bowl, her long fingernails taking the slip in her hands.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

The entire crowd is silent. As much as Town folk hate the Seam, everyone loves Prim. She's a sweet little thing. Her appearance makes it easy to pretend she's not from the Seam at all. Little Primrose Everdeen steps out of the twelve-year-old section and I feel my stomach churn.

"Prim!"

Katniss looks so pained as she runs out of her place and is immediately surrounded by Peacekeepers. Taking a gamble, I look over to find Bevan. She's horrified. It's written all over her features. She's better now than she was four years ago but I know that losing Prim is going to drive her back to wherever she went after Hunter died.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I break my view of Bevan and can't find a place to let my eyes fall. I try to find Peeta, but I can't. He's stuck in the crowd somewhere ahead of me but I swear I can hear his heart breaking. Beside me Rye is staring in awe of Katniss's heroics. Most of the Town folk are. We wouldn't do it.

_Rye and Leaven, if we lived in the Seam, would never do for me what she does for Prim._

Those words have haunted me for years. Peeta really does know the politics of the district. Even when he was ten he could see right through the Town charade.

I see something flash in Haymitch Abernathy's drunken slurs. I wonder if he recognizes Katniss as Hunter's daughter. It's hard not to see the resemblance. Abernathy pronounces that he likes her, likes her spunk, and then falls off the stage. He's more drunk this year than he's ever been and I wonder why. Is it because he knew it was Hunter's younger daughter's first reaping? Does he even acknowledge his friendship to Hunter anymore? I have no idea. I'm probably overthinking the district drunk.

"Peeta Mellark!"

My head jerks up at the sound of my son's name being echoed through the square. I'm hearing things. Effie Trinket is still focused on Abernathy.

Peeta steps out of the crowd and I feel my stomach churn. No. No, this is not happening. Leaven is within my sight and I can see him looking back at us, his eyes wide in shock. This isn't happening. They've both made it through the reaping.

My heart is beating faster and faster as I look to Leaven. _Volunteer. Leaven, volunteer. You're more likely to get out of there alive than Peeta. We all know it. They're going to eat him alive._

Rye's heavy breathing makes me turn to the stage. Peeta and Katniss are shaking hands and I feel dizzy. I stumble backwards through the crowd until I'm leaning against the coal bin, holding my hand to it to stabilize me. We had been so concerned with Leaven. I had been sure it would be Hawthorne. No one even considered Peeta being reaped.

Cleat Cartwright is standing beside me and I push him away. No. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, pad my way down to the boys' room, and see Peeta and Leaven both sleeping peacefully in their beds. Peeta is not going to his death. No.

I don't know how I get there, but I push through the doors of the Justice Building's holding room and grab my youngest son in my arms.

"I'm going to die," Peeta says.

I shake my head, well aware that Delilah and the boys are behind me waiting for their turn. "No," I say, stepping back and grabbing his face in my hands. "You're going to come back."

"No, I'm not." His voice is strong and stable but his eyes show his emotion. He could burst into tears any minute. "She's coming back if it's either of us."

She. _ She_. Katniss Everdeen. Of course, the year my son gets reaped is the year Katniss Everdeen volunteers. The odds were never in Peeta's favor. Not once. I pat his cheek and kiss his forehead.

"You stay you," I tell him.

It astounds me that with his declaration I am now able to grasp that these are the last three minutes I will ever have with my son. He's determined to protect her, even at the cost of his own life. He never stopped loving her and there's nothing I can do to change that.

"Well, it looks like we're going to have a victor this year," Delilah says as I let go of Peeta. I look at her, send her a grateful look because this kindness is something rare. "She's a survivor."

And just like that, with a sneer and a turned back, I realize that Delilah is not wishing our son luck, but declaring his impending death. Peeta turns away from her and to Rye and Leaven, but neither can really look at him. Leaven looks at his shoes and Rye's mouth just keeps gaping open and shut like a fish. So, he turns to me.

"Take care of them."

The Everdeens. Of course.

"Okay," I tell him as the Peacekeepers open the door to take us away.

"I'm not going to let them change me," Peeta tells me as I embrace him once more. "I promise."

I'm pulled out of the room with such haste that I don't even get the chance to say goodbye. I still have his cookies in my hands, the cookies I bring for the tributes every year not ever thinking they would go to one of my own boys.

Down the hall, the Peacekeepers have lifted Primrose in the air as she screams, reaching her hands into the room she's being forced out of. There is a line forming outside Katniss's door as Prim's screams keep the Peacekeepers from allowing the next visitors inside. The mayor's daughter is there, as is Gale. The two kids turn to each other, silently deciding who's going to go first, and when Madge Undersee waits to enter Katniss's room, Gale Hawthorne starts walking toward us.

He sends me a small look before passing by us and knocking on Peeta's door. I rush back and hand him the cookies, desperate to get one last thing to my son. The Peacekeeper lets Gale in and I wonder what he's going to say. Probably try to convince Peeta to protect Katniss.

The irony is that I'm sure Katniss would do a better job protecting Peeta. It isn't lost on me that Katniss, like Delilah implied, is built for these Games and Peeta is not.

Gale is still in with Peeta when Madge looks to me and asks if I want to go first. I hadn't even realized I had stepped into the line but I take my chance to give the second bag of cookies to the second tribute.

Katniss Everdeen is a beautiful girl. I'd never realized it until now, with her sitting in front of me, an animal going to slaughter. I recognize the dress she's in as one of Bevan's from years and years ago. Her hair is intricately braided and I know it's Bevan's handiwork. I sit down in the plush chair and pull the cookies from my coat pocket.

This is the girl my son is going to die for and she probably doesn't even realize it.

She thanks me for the cookies and proceeds to tell me about the bread I traded Gale for this morning. "Not your best trade," she says.

I shrug and continue to stare at her. People always say she looks like Hunter but it's merely her coloring. If you look closely she's just like Bevan. She has that natural beauty that I fell for so many years ago. She squirms a little in the silence, but I don't know what to say. What can I say to her, this girl who has stolen my son's heart, this girl who will probably die right alongside him?

So, I think about what Peeta asked as his final request just as a Peacekeeper comes to get me. I stand, cough, and clear my throat, trying to sound the best I can, however the emotion of the day echoes through the room when I speak. "I'll keep an eye on the little girl. Make sure she's eating."

A smile graces her lips and I can't help but think this may be one of the rare smiles she gives. I don't even think she realizes she's smiling. It looks good on her face – the smile replacing her usual scowl. We don't speak again and I walk from the room to find Rye waiting for me. Madge is allowed in after me and I see Gale standing in line to go in after her, his eyes piercing through me when he realizes I'm exiting Katniss's room.

We walk back to the bakery in silence. Leaven and Delilah are sitting at the table when we arrive. My son – is he my youngest now? – looks down at his shoes. My wife drums her fingers on the wood. Rye sits down in between them and I stand against the wall.

Delilah is finally the one to break the awkward silence.

"Well, at least he won't die in a mine," she hisses before standing up and storming out of the room. I think for a moment that she's genuinely upset but I don't want to say anything to ruin it. I would like to remember my wife as being distraught over Peeta's death rather than gleeful.

Despite the star-crossed lovers angle they're playing with, I do not really hold much merit to it until the screens in the square display our district tributes in the cave. Just as I had thought, Katniss is doing a wonder protecting Peeta although he did a decent job himself by joining that group of bloodthirsty tributes from One and Two. To be completely honest, I don't think most of the people in District Twelve believed the angle either. The Gamemakers seemed to think it made for a great storyline though because they kept showing them on the main screen, leaving all three of our screens filled with images of our tributes and very rarely would it stray to any of the others.

They held each other as the rain beat down, three other tributes somewhere in the arena, followed by only their district's specific tribute screens. Every district, however, watched our tributes talk in low voices and kiss each other as if they'd known each other, loved one another, forever. I mean, for Peeta that's true. For Katniss, I'm not entirely sure what it is. The whole district had been fairly sure she was dating Hawthorne.

At one point, Katniss, her eyes glazed over in exhaustion, began playing with Peeta's fingers while he slept. It was so out of character for her that the entire district held their breath as Gale Hawthorne tried to storm out of the square, only to be pushed back in by Darius because we were in mandatory public viewing. This is the time in the Games where tributes begin running on what little they have left of their subconscious, their sanity, their wills. So exhausted and so hopeless because they are so close to going home but so far away at the same time. The Capitol loves showing it to us.

Katniss, in her desperation or maybe delusion, leans up and kisses Peeta's jaw before resting her head back over his chest, her ear over his heart as if trying to make sure it's still beating. I suck a breath in; it's not just Peeta. As they sleep, the cameras finally leave the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve to follow the irrational brute from District Two stomping through the rain, crazed by the death of his district partner and searching for the massive tribute from Eleven for justice.

It is while the main cameras are not on them, their own cameras showing their peaceful sleeping forms, that I realize Katniss and Peeta have been the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve much longer than anyone realizes. Star-crossed back when they were five and wanting to be best friends only to be pulled apart because she was an Everdeen and he a Mellark. Star-crossed as they grew, Peeta unable to act on his crush because he was a Town kid and she a miner's daughter. And now, now that they are away from the district, far away from the politics that have segregated us into Town and Seam, merchant and miner, only to be thrown into the Hunger Games where one, if not both, will by definition end up dead.

While the main screen follows the brutal boy from Two as he thrashes through the rain, gossip flies through the square but it is not a horrible gossip like I had imagined four years ago. It is not the same as it was when Bevan ran from Town to the Seam for Hunter. It's different. It's tragic.

Katniss and Peeta have one of the most heartbreaking love stories that has hit District Twelve. Even Delilah, who turns her head to the ground with every show of affection between the two, sighs a little at the thought that in a few days, or possibly less, both of these kids will be ruined. Once you find that one person, you always love them, and in this case only one of them will come back alive – if that. Because as much as we all like to hope, we know the Capitol and we know that the hope of bringing them both back is as unlikely as it gets. Even if they were both to get to the end, to have the chance to both come home as Claudius Templesmith has announced, we know the Gamemakers can take that away just as easily as they handed it out.

And so we wait. We wait for one of them to die and take the other's heart with them. We in District Twelve watch with heavy hearts, knowing the exact story that these two have followed from the time they were five years old. Their teachers gossip about the stares they sent each other in school. Their friends add in tidbits about how they _just knew_ it would happen. I overhear Peeta's friends talk about how they teased him for his crush on her. I listen to the giggles of a group of Seam girls as they remember times when they were friends with Katniss, back before Hunter's death, and they would talk about my son in her room. I don't know how much of this is true and how much a fabrication because we know neither of them is coming back, but it brings our district together, even if only for the night.

Katniss is a Seam girl. Peeta is a Town boy. They fell in love. And this time it is tragic and we will mourn our tributes, but we do not call Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark star-crossed lovers. A different word floats through as the reporters continue to interrogate us, as they ask Katniss's cousin Gale, as they speak to little Primrose, as they bombard Rye and Leaven. Here, my son and Hunter's daughter are star-crossed, but we don't use the Capitol's catchy phrase.

In District Twelve we call them soulmates.

* * *

_Let me know what you think! There's one more chapter after this, which I hope everyone likes. Also, I took the dialogue from Katniss and Mr. Mellark's visit directly from the book, so the credit is to Suzanne Collins for those lines. _


	8. The Change

_Hi everyone, I just wanted to give a huge thank you to all of my faithful readers for your lovely support and enthusiasm. This has been a joy to write for all of you. This is the final chapter and, as a treat, it's about three times as long as usual. There was a lot to fit in. I hope you all enjoy it!_

* * *

Chapter Eight: The Change

_Nothing can ever change that._

When Peeta was six he stayed home from school with a fever that wouldn't break. Proust Parkinson had even come by to assess him and made a special herbal remedy that I knew I would never be able to replicate. We were told to let him rest, keep him cool in hopes that would aid in breaking it, and feed him what he could keep down.

"Is Peeta going to die?" Leaven had asked. He was eight and at a point where everything – from seeing the neighbor's cat to walking passed Rooba's porch – made him question us about death. Rye, at ten, was out of that stage and had flicked his brother so hard the boy started to bleed.

"Don't ask that," I heard, even though I didn't turn away from Peeta and Rye's voice was so quiet I was sure he didn't want me to hear.

"No, Leaven," I remember saying. "Peeta's not going to die."

My middle child had let out a breath and mumbled, "See I can ask," under his breath.

During those days, Delilah sat in the front and I would set Peeta on the far bench under a mound of blankets with a bag of ice on the back of his neck while I baked the bread. She hated it, saying we were going to infect the entire district with whatever he had picked up at school – no doubt from those mangy Seam kids. I knew keeping him in the hot oven room wasn't good, but I couldn't not keep my eye on him, making sure his little chest rose and fell, his forehead drenched in sweat, while he slept.

I woke up earlier than ever to start the bread for the day so I could finish early. I had Rye bring him down when the two left for school and hurried through everything so I could get him back upstairs. No one had bothered us for specialty items and I knew people in Town were gossiping about us. While Seam kids tended to starve, it was infection that took the Town kids, not nearly as often but at least once a year. Once I finished, I scooped my youngest in my arms and checked his forehead. Hot, as if his face was made of burning embers, and I would stick him in a cool bath.

"Papa?" he asked, his eyes glazed with fever on the third day.

"What is it, little guy?" I asked back. I didn't face him, instead readying the concoction Proust had given me the day before hoping this would work once and for all.

When I turned to him, the mix in my hand, he breathed through his mouth, loud and horrible gasps. "Why do we have the Hunger Games?"

It hadn't been what I was expecting at all but then I realized that the first grade was when they started learning about the Dark Days and the Rebellion. He had watched our neighbor Derry Hayward be reaped and killed in the previous Hunger Games. My mouth gaped open and closed not knowing what to say.

"Dad, we need you back here."

I shake my head of the memory and turn to Rye standing in the doorway that leads to the back. It's been dead all morning in the front, the rainstorm stopping most of our usual customers from making the trek outdoors. Rye's face is stricken as he bites his lip and turns around to rush back in.

Then I hear the scream.

I don't know what I had been expecting but my heart drops to my feet and my stomach leaps in my throat when I see him. He's curled on the floor in the fetal position, his hands covered in food dye as he stares at them, tears streaming down his face like the rain outside. I am no longer dealing with the delirious boy who asked why we have the Hunger Games. I am dealing with the delusional boy who went to the Hunger Games and taught me why we have them.

He's been home for three weeks. When he and Katniss had nearly eaten the berries I had fallen to my knees in the square and when Claudius Templesmith's voice shouted for them to stop I had cried. Bawled like a baby right in the square and I didn't care who saw because my boy was coming home. I barely saw him for the first week, when he and Katniss were shuffled from feast to feast, obligatory celebrations that ranged from high-profile parties at the mayor's house to a district-wide festival with free food and music for everyone in the town square. Peeta and Katniss had both looked so happy and in love and alive and beautiful together that it had never crossed my mind what would go on behind closed doors.

The first week, before their new homes in the Victor's Village were ready, we kept them in the homes of their childhoods. The first night back from the train, Peeta coming in way passed curfew and after we'd all been asleep for hours, I woke up to the first of the string of nightmares he'd had since his return.

And they only seem to get worse.

This isn't the first time he's started screaming in the bakery nor do I think it will be the last. Anything and everything can trigger him to set off and today it looks like he's been mixing the frosting because his hands are covered in red food dye which looks way too much like blood not to send him back to the arena.

Leaven's gotten him to sit up by the time I get to him with a wet cloth and begin to wipe his hands. I know it's useless, when we mix the frosting our hands are usually dyed for days, but I scrub until his hands are raw. He's stopped shaking and just sits there, his eyes focused on his hands.

"You can't wash it off," he says softly.

There are days when he comes into the bakery and I think for a minute that I've just had one huge nightmare. He looks normal and happy and bright and…he looks like Peeta, not this Capitol-creation that has taken over my lovable little boy. I like to pretend on these days that he's coming home from school when he sits beside me on the bench. Sometimes I pretend he's coming back from a date in the Seam with a beautiful girl that looks like her mother with her father's coloring, the same one who used to give me squirrels at the back door. Most of the time I pretend that he's coming down from his room with the twinkle in his eye which means he's up to something, like tricking Rye into eating a cupcake made of weeds or leaving the squirrel Gale Hawthorne brought out in the open for Leaven to see and nearly vomit over, paying his brothers back for the years of torment they put him through – that twinkle.

The twinkle I haven't seen since he's been back. The one I don't think I'll ever see again. The thing I think I may miss the most about him.

"I want to go home," he says, his voice no louder than a whisper getting caught in his throat.

Rye looks outside and shakes his head. "Later, when the storm ends."

When Peeta looks at me I can see in his face that he doesn't mean it literally. He wants to go back, back to before, back before he had blood on his hands that will never be washed clean. I know because I want it too. I wish every day that I could turn back time and change the names pulled at the reaping. Not Primrose Everdeen and, because of that, not Katniss. Not Peeta.

Most of the time, when he's having one of these moments, touching him isn't a good idea, which leaves me at a loss as to what to do. The only way I know how to comfort my boys is the way I've been doing it since the day Rye was born: take them in my arms and rock them back and forth, kissing their forehead when it gets really bad. But, when I tried that last time, Peeta started screaming and pushed me away to curl up in the corner, yelling at the top of his lungs, something about it being all for the Games. It had gotten so bad that Rye had gone to the apothecary and Proust had to pour some concoction down his throat to sedate him.

I don't know what to do to help him and it's the worst feeling in the world, to be a parent to a child that's hurting and not being able to fix it.

He's still thin from the arena despite all of the feasts he's been the main event at. Proust told me to let him work up to it because his stomach isn't prepared for all the food he's been giving it. _Give it time to get back to normal. He'll be eating like an ox before you know it._ He doesn't sleep well. When he slept at home he woke me up nearly every night and now that he's sleeping at the Victor's Village home I know he can't be sleeping much better. Rye usually spends the night there so he's not alone, breaking in after he's gone to sleep and leaving before he wakes up. That's one thing the Capitol didn't steal from my son – he still doesn't like people going out of their way for him. No matter how hard I begged him, no matter how firmly I put my foot down – _I'm the parent around here_ – he wouldn't let me move in with him, claiming it was too far away from the bakery for me to walk to and fro in the early hours of the morning in order to start work when I can just roll out of bed at home.

Today I take a gamble and brush a lock of his blond hair away from his beautiful blue eyes that don't twinkle anymore with innocence. They stare at me as I do this, dead and hollow. He's seen innocent children die. He can never recover from that. And I feel so guilty when the thought runs through my head that perhaps it would have been better if he and Katniss had swallowed the berries before Claudius Templesmith told them to stop. They're dead either way.

At least Peeta is. I haven't seen Katniss for days.

Peeta closes his eyes but doesn't start to shake and seize. I take this as a good sign and put my hand on his cheek. He leans into it and chokes out a sob. "I killed her," he says softly, almost inaudible to my ears.

I frown. Caesar Flickerman had pronounced Peeta the only victor to never purposefully kill anyone in the Games. At the time of the announcement, I had thought it showed how he hadn't lied to me in the holding room at the Justice Building after his reaping. He stayed him. It had broken my heart to watch him go back to the girl from District Eight while he was with the brutal tributes who hounded Katniss, thinking I had lost my boy to blood thirst. But when he sat beside her and held her hand I had let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

"_You know, dying is like falling asleep, except when you wake up you'll be in a beautiful place and not here. You don't have to be afraid anymore. Just close your eyes and relax. Most of us will be with you soon and maybe we can all be friends when we get there._"

Once she had closed her eyes, Peeta convinced she'd bled out enough to not recover, he went back to the group of monsters as the cannon blew. He cannot possibly blame himself for her death, so there's only one more death he can blame himself for.

The girl from Five.

Nightlock berries, I learned, leave a red residue on your hands, like the dye covering Peeta's now. He's not looking at his hand and seeing blood like I had thought earlier. He's seeing the juice from the berries, the ones that killed the girl from Five, the ones he and Katniss nearly ate themselves. I look from my youngest to my two older boys, wondering whose brilliant idea it was to let him mix the frosting today.

It was Leaven. I can tell by the way his eyes look down and he starts mumbling about how he can't do anything right. In a way I know it's true. He didn't volunteer for Peeta at the reaping. He doesn't think about how much his brother has changed until he triggers some memory from the arena. I think Leaven had been even more excited to hear Peeta's name announced as a victor than I had been – it meant his brother hadn't died because he'd been a coward.

And I hate that I blame Leaven. I do. It makes my heart burn with guilt but my mind won't stop thinking about all the terror Peeta's been through that his older brother could've stopped and didn't.

"You didn't kill anyone," I whisper, hoping that it's the right thing to say. "You stayed you."

It's a lie. It's a lie because he did accidentally kill the girl from Five and despite his hardest attempts he didn't stay Peeta. He didn't willingly let the Capitol change him but they did, just as they change every kid that rises on that podium and manages to be the last one standing. The gamblers always say the victor is the biggest loser of all twenty-four tributes and I had never realized they were right until now.

Peeta shakes his head and lets a single tear fall from his eyes and race through the tracks of wetness already on his cheeks.

The door slams behind us and I realize just moments too late that Delilah's home.

"What is he doing here?"

There's been talk about Town, apparently, about the fact that Peeta's been seen in the bakery. Some of the folk that aren't close to us are gossiping that it isn't _right_ for a victor to continue to work. _They don't go to school; they should be allowed their rest for what they've done._ What they don't realize is that it is the only semblance of normality he has left.

"Bran, get him out of here!"

"Mother!" Rye hisses. "It's storming."

"I don't care," she sneers. "He's no son of mine, prancing around with that Seam rat."

I watch Peeta's eyes as Leaven corrects her, saying that Katniss is no longer a Seam rat but a victor, and feel my heart drop. His eyes, which used to light up at the mere mention of her name, don't react at all. He just attempts to look everywhere but his mother. The windows. The doors.

He's not avoiding his mother. He's looking for an escape. Delilah has managed to pull him out of his guilt and torment, bringing him back from the horrors of the arena only to be faced with the horrors of his life before the reaping.

In the brief moment in which I turn to glare at my wife, he breaks out of my grasp and sprints out the door.

"Peeta!" Rye shouts but there's no stopping his brother, not even the clap of thunder that makes the bakery rumble. Without thinking, I run after him.

Despite him being sixteen and me being over the hill, I catch up quickly. He's still limping and that makes me slow, my stomach clenching. Most of the time, hidden by his clothes, I forget that he doesn't even have the body he left with, his leg replaced with a plastic and metal contraption that makes him limp. He trips in the road and I kneel down beside him, my heart breaking.

"I should have just died!" he shouts.

No.

"I have nothing here!" he continues. "I don't even have the bakery anymore!"

No. He can't be thinking that. No. I love him, changes and all. His brothers have been so kind to him lately that it's hard to believe they ever teased him. Delilah's the same as she's always been, if not colder, but he should have expected that. He has so much here. Friends, like Delly and the Undersee girl who stop by to ask how he's doing. The Everdeens. Little Primrose has stopped by to check on him, asking if he's doing better than Katniss. Katniss who is attempting to forget everything and slept herself into some sort of stupor the week after their celebrations, Bevan apparently feeding her sleep syrup like candy.

Katniss.

"What would Katniss have done if you died?" I ask, hoping the mention of his fellow victor will bring him back down to reality, make him realize he has so much left in him.

The reaction I get is not at all what I expect, but then again, I haven't expected much of what has happened recently. He gives off a laugh, cool and distant and not at all a laugh the old Peeta would've given even toward his mother.

"Katniss?" he asks, almost incredulously, mocking me. "She doesn't need me. She has _Gale_."

This confuses me because when they're together they look like they did in the cave – happy and in love. However, I suppose I haven't seen her since the celebrations, and in that time they could have had some sort of argument. A clap of thunder takes my mind off Katniss and I lift myself up, holding a hand out to help him. He doesn't take it and rolls on the ground, his face in his arms as his chest splashes into a puddle.

I don't even know what to do until I hear a laugh.

"Oh, kid, it only goes downhill from here," comes the gruff voice of Haymitch Abernathy, the man I have never had any interest in talking to but now feel as if I owe my life to for getting Peeta out of the arena. He stands, his hand clasped around the neck of a bottle of spirits, in a raincoat and I can't help but roll my eyes. Only the district drunk would brave the storm and I now know how Ripper has been able to stay in business. Between Abernathy and our Head Peacekeeper Cray that must be how she makes her living.

Peeta lifts his head. "Haymitch?"

He holds his arms out as if to say _the one and only_. For a brief moment I can see a former shadow of himself, sixteen and standing with Maysilee Donner in their chariot, Maysilee looking terrified and Abernathy looking bored. I had hated him for his arrogance because of Maysilee, who hadn't deserved to die. I had hated him even more when he came back and shut everyone out of his life, causing Bevan to run. I even hate him now, my blood boiling because he can coax Peeta to sit up and I can't even convince him not to want to disappear in the puddle.

"What are you doing outside in the rain?" Abernathy asks, not even acknowledging me as he reaches down to grab Peeta's shirt. Peeta scrambles to his feet as Abernathy lifts. "Can't let our newest victor get sick, now can we?"

Peeta's face drops and Abernathy pats his shoulder. "Come on," he says. "You going home? We'll talk."

I watch stunned as Peeta begins following after him. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't send me a look. It's like I've handed over the reigns of fatherhood to Haymitch Abernathy – of all the people I wouldn't choose to take over my role – and I can't do anything but stare.

Abernathy pokes Peeta's new leg with his bottle. "You better warn me next time it's gonna rain," he says, his version of a surly joke. "I don't want to have to visit Ripper in a storm again."

Peeta shoves his arm and the two walk away, leaving me standing in the rain in the middle of Town watching after them. I don't move until they're out of my sight and then I head back to the bakery, the lump so large in my throat I can barely breathe. When I walk in, Delilah looks behind me and smirks when Peeta doesn't follow. Rye and Leaven each give me looks but don't ask. I go upstairs and sit on the end of my bed, my head in my hands, thinking of the times when I would tell the boys stories before they went to sleep.

Times when I would sit for hours decorating with Peeta, the bakery filled with his innocent chatter.

Times when Rye and Leaven would tease him for his crush on Katniss, catcalling and snickering behind his back like older brothers are supposed to do.

Times that I'm never going to get back.

I want to go visit him but each time I get the nerve to walk out the door I don't know what to say. Am I angry that he chose Abernathy over me? No, not really, because I understand that Abernathy knows what he's going through better than I do. No longer is the main problem in his life a girl that doesn't reciprocate his feelings. That had been my territory, waters I knew well. But now we're both drowning and I don't know how to keep him at the surface. Abernathy does. He's been to the depths of that sea and back up again and he can bring Peeta there as well. No, I'm not angry, but I can't say it doesn't hurt.

So as the days I slip my boots on only to turn around become weeks, become months, I hope my son isn't turning into a drunken victor like his mentor. At this point I feel like I don't even know him. He hasn't been back to the bakery since Delilah told him to leave and I can't say I blame him.

It's my job to go to him. And I can't. Because I'm a horrible father.

On his seventeenth birthday I make a cake but I don't make the trek to the Victor's Village to give it to him. I sit at my table deep into the night looking at it. I've covered it in primroses and katniss flowers. I've even put some berries on the top. The frosting color is red. It's around two in the morning that I realize that this cake is not a cake that represents my Peeta. It's a cake for the new Peeta. That's the only thing I know about him anymore. I don't know what he does for fun now that he doesn't work here. I don't know if he's eating right – for all I know he's gorging himself on Capitol food and doesn't fit through a door anymore. All I know is that he's still madly in love with Katniss Everdeen – Cleat says he's seen them once or twice walking through Town together, both looking uncomfortable while being followed by reporters that don't know the meaning of hidden cameras – and he's hounded by the terrible experiences that stole his innocence.

I'm still there when Rye comes in, hanging his coat on the rack ready to start the morning.

"Oh, Dad," he says, shaking his head and lifting the cake from the table. He puts it in the trash. "He'll come around. It's Peeta."

"Yeah, but it's not our Peeta," I hiss, something I've started to do more now that he's been gone. Rye and Leaven both tell me they don't like it but I don't care. I'm mourning my son because he is gone even though his body is right down the road.

We're forced to watch the Victory Tour and it makes me feel even worse because he hasn't even said goodbye. I'm hollow as I stand in the crowd, watching as Katniss and my son step out on the stage in Eleven. He looks like Peeta, filled out again in his fine suit. He speaks like Peeta, using his eloquent skill to address the crowd while Katniss watches. He even acts like Peeta, giving some of his winnings to the families of the tributes.

But, he's not my Peeta. My Peeta would have said goodbye. He would have a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. Its something only a parent would notice, the slight differences in his gait or the way his eyes stare, which remind me that he's seen more horror than I will in the rest of my life.

I suppose I'm not even surprised when he proposes to Katniss during Caesar Flickerman's interview because to be honest I don't know him anymore. This isn't the little boy who would have asked me if he was ready. He isn't the kid who would know he's too young to marry her. He's not Peeta, who would have asked my permission because he's still a minor and still under my roof.

Because he's not. He's not under my roof. He's not a kid anymore but an adult in every way but age.

I am surprised, however, when he comes to the bakery.

It's a Wednesday. Delilah is where she usually is, at the Cartwrights, probably gossiping about the son she no longer thinks of as her flesh and blood getting married at seventeen to a Seam rat that doesn't deserve him. Rye and Leaven are working in the back and I'm manning the front. It's a bright day in March, his Victory Tour a few weeks over, and it's the first I've seen of him in person for months.

We stare at each other for what could have been hours.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," I repeat.

Peeta's jaw tenses and he looks down at his feet. "I," he says and then lets out a breath. My son, who could get the entire country to follow him into a war with a simple _let's go_, is stuck on his words. "I'm sorry."

And when he looks up at me I almost expect his eyes to twinkle. They don't, but they're not quite as dead as they had been the last time we spoke. In fact, they almost look alive again.

"How are you?" I ask.

Peeta's shoulders drop and I feel as if he must think I was going to converse as readily with him as I did before the reaping. A wave of understanding passes over his face and he nods. "Fine," he says. He thinks for a second before adding, "better."

"That's good."

My mind, heart, and mouth are not connected. My mind is telling me to stop being so terse. My heart is telling me to run and embrace him. My mouth, however, isn't letting him off for running away, for leaving me to be comforted by the district drunk instead of his own father.

I want to scream. _Father._ I think, when I didn't attempt to stop him from shutting me out, I lost that title.

"I, uh," he says, not moving from the door. "I wanted…I need you to know that I didn't leave because…it's because…"

"I know," I say, my heart finally connecting with my mouth because I can't stand to see him fighting for his words. It was always the thing he was so good at and to see that we can't even carry a conversation hurts me more than I could imagine. I had never been one for words but Peeta had been my little chatterbox and I could listen to him for hours, hanging on every word.

"No, you don't. And that's why I left," he says. His lifts his eyes to meet mine and I can see a bit of fire in them that I've never seen before. "You don't understand what it's like to…to go through what I went through and I didn't _want_ you to. I didn't want you to bear my burden. You've done enough of that through the years. You can't fix me this time and I didn't want you to try…I just want to say that I'm sorry and I know it's probably – no, it's not enough, but it's a start."

I nod my head and take in his words. I'm not immune to his powers of speech. I never have been and I never will be. My mouth lets out a sigh and I open it but no words come out. Although my heart has forgiven him, my mind has accepted it, I can't say the words I need to say to him because part of me knows I need to say that I'm sorry as well.

The words that come out of my mouth instead are, "so, you're engaged?"

For a minute his eye flash with disappointment and then he smiles. "Yeah," he says. "I should have warned you. It was probably a shock."

I shrug. "Eh," I say. He knows the truth though because I've told all three of them for years what I think of marrying too young, never wanting them to end up in my situation. I stare at him, not knowing how long it will be before he goes out my door and leaves again, uncertain about when he'll come back. "Are you happy? With Katniss?"

It's not what he had been expecting, I can tell because he looks like he's searching for the right words. "She keeps me on my toes," he says and I can't help think that there's something hidden in his words that goes right through me like the nippy winter's chill. "I don't know if I can ever be happy," he adds softly. "But, I'm okay, the way I'm living."

We stand staring at each other for another minute before he excuses himself and walks out the door.

Soon the entire district is forced to watch Caesar Flickerman interview Katniss's stylist Cinna and view her possible wedding dresses. They're stunning and while watching I can picture Peeta and Katniss's beautiful wedding in a huge Capitol ballroom surrounded by Panem's high and mighty. Two kids from Twelve, of all places, captivating the richest and most powerful among us. It's then that President Snow comes on and reads the card for the Quarter Quell. The entire time he's reading it I'm thinking of the last time he read a similar card and the consequences of it. Maysilee. Abernathy. Two kids from the Seam that I never knew and can't even bring to mind their names.

I don't even realize what he's said until Rye and Leaven drop their jaws, looking up at the screen we have in the bakery.

"He can't do that, can he?" Leaven asks, looking around.

"He can do whatever the hell he wants," Rye hisses.

The rules for the third Quarter Quell are highlighted on the screen and I feel my heart start to break all over again. It's then that I realize there will be no wedding. With that single announcement I have lost whatever remains of my son. Katniss is going back, there's no question since she's the only female victor for our district. The odds have never been in Peeta's favor. Not once. Never never never been in my son's favor, not since the day he as born and Delilah wouldn't even hold him. I was stuck with a wife who didn't care, two boys that crawled all over me, and a newborn that didn't understand that even the slightest cry he made upset the woman who never really wanted him in the first place.

So, when the time comes, I'm not surprised when Peeta volunteers for the district drunk at the reaping for the Quarter Quell because – well, the only time the odds _are_ in his favor they really aren't. He loves Katniss and is willing to die for her and nothing will ever change that. I don't go to say goodbye. I had my chances and I never went to see him, not once, after he made the effort to see me. Again, I've lost my right to fatherhood and concede it to Haymitch Abernathy.

We have to watch their interviews in the public square as always and I'm sure I see Bevan nearly faint when Peeta announces there is a baby involved. People start squealing about a victor baby – hoping, perhaps, that it will bring more fortune onto our district for producing these two lovesick fools who will never be happy because of the Games. Part of me doesn't believe it. I'd like to think I raised him better than that. The other part of me doesn't know whether to believe it or not because I have to remind myself that I've lost _my_ son.

I watch everything almost impassively. I know Peeta is waiting to jump in front of Katniss the minute one of the brutes from One or Two try to kill her. They wander around with the young and handsome Finnick Odair and his elderly district partner. So, it's my surprise when my heart starts racing and Peeta dies. It wasn't what I had been expecting, Peeta to not fling his body in front of Katniss as an arrow or an ax, some crazy mutt perhaps, is flung toward her.

Katniss's screams echo out of our screens and through our square. She's bawling so hard I being to wonder if this pregnancy isn't a farce to get pity sponsors because this isn't her personality to cry. Perhaps her hormones are getting the best of her. And if it isn't fake, if she really is pregnant, then I really don't know who this boy is who has taken over my son's body. I understand that he's a teenage boy, but my Peeta…well, he's gone now.

It doesn't ease my mind about the whole pregnancy issue when I see them on the beach. It's a kiss that's not worried about what the cameras are catching. They're wearing next to nothing after their suits were destroyed and Peeta's hands are on her bare waist and Katniss's hands run through his dirty blond locks until they're on his neck, his shoulders, his chest. It's passionate, that's for sure.

We go back to calling them soulmates. Even Gale, when asked about seeing his cousin kissing so passionately on television by a woman who's dyed her skin neon green, says he's never seen anyone more in love than Katniss and Peeta. He says he's happy for them, but the tone of his voice suggests otherwise and the Capitol reporter says something about him being overprotective of his beautiful cousin causing him to walk away.

It's Delly who gives the answer the Capitol reporters keep repeating.

"There's nothing stopping that fire," she says with a smile, pointing to the screen where they've stopped kissing each other but are still in each other's arms, Katniss's legs wrapped around his waist as she sits in his lap her chest flat up against his, her head buried in the crook of his neck. I sit and watch them caught up in their love for each other, not a care in the world aside from the fact that the other is still alive, their hearts beating in tandem, together, as one.

But, later, when Katniss sends an arrow flying, Peeta's screen showing his footsteps are just not fast enough to get to her in time, our screens turn off leaving our district in a cascade of darkness. The odds are never in Peeta's favor. I bow my head and walk toward the bakery, avoiding everyone's hurried gossip about why our screens went black. Instead I sit at my bench and decorate a few blank cookies I had left this morning with purple primroses, the frosting flowers never as good as Peeta's.

My mind is spinning. Peeta killed Brutus. Not by accident. Not sitting beside him and holding his hand. He had killed him in full blood, in a fit of rage. My hands can barely keep the decorator's bag still knowing that the boy who could barely kill a spider had morphed into this crazed…monster, lost from me completely because of a stupid reaping and a Capitol that insisted upon killing twenty-three innocent children and destroying the twenty-fourth each year to show their power over us.

It's when I finish frosting the primroses that I realize I started losing my son long before his reaping. When I close my eyes I see his entire life flash before me.

Peeta running to me, five years old, pointing to Katniss. _She sings like her papa_.

Peeta begging to bring her bread when her father was injured, burning bread for her nearly six years later upon his death.

The primrose decorations. The stolen glances. _She's coming back if it's either of us_. Her name screamed in his nightmares. _Will you marry me?_ The pearl on the beach. His anguished screams of her name when he realized he was too late to do the one thing he had volunteered to do.

Die for her.

I snap my eyes open. My son has been waiting his entire life to die for Katniss Everdeen and he doesn't even realize that he already has, his little innocent heart gone to protect her in the first Games, the last bits of his life gone in a vain attempt to save her in the Quell. He's gone. Not just his innocence, but his life this time because the arena is gone and with it all the tributes. But, as I take a cookie in my hand, I swallow back tears. There is one part of him that will never die and the Capitol can never take that away. They can program him to kill as I had seen with Brutus, taking away his innocence. They can give him horrible nightmares where he can't even sleep, taking away his mind. They can take him away from me, severing the bond I thought would never break. There's only one thing they can't take and it's not his body, not his soul, not his spirit. It's his heart.

His heart belongs to the girl on fire. Nothing can ever change that.

* * *

_Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for anyone who left a review or kept up with this story. It has been a joy to hear your reactions and a pleasure to write it for you. I'll be posting another story again soon, I'm currently debating between a few story lines I have floating in my head right now. If any of you decide to read that I would be overjoyed._

_Thank you so much for being such great readers and reviewers. So, one last time...for the audience? _


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